There was a young man from the Ceilidh
Who took up the old ukulele
It sat there on his knees
Playing 'This dog has fleas'
For hours and hours almost daily
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From Formby to songs of Hawaii
He insisted on running them by me
It was really a shame
I said "They all sound the same"
When I said that he answered "Cor Blimey"
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He tried his best to persuade me
With his uke on his chest he'd serenade me
With cotton wool in my ears
And a couple of beers
I could barely just stand what he played me
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Fair enough they can look quite charming
Dinky and plinky and calming
They're portable too
I'll give that to you
But it's that sound that I find so alarming
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Banjo players laugh in their presence
They would never have stocked them in Jeavans
Bagpipers just smile
Morris men run a mile
They're the ideal unwanted present
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Now they're banding together in groups
Small armies of geeks with their ukes
If we don't stop them soon
They'll be playing in tune
Then we'll all find ourselves in the soup
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So if offered a cheap ukulele
Take it home, but let nobody see you
Take it out in the yard
And smash it quite hard
With a sledgehammer, brick or Shillelagh